


Stardust

by Elvishdork



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Gen, Gender Neutral MC - Freeform, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Mild Religious Contemplation, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27350386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvishdork/pseuds/Elvishdork
Summary: Millenniums after the rebellion that allowed his family to seize the throne, Lord Diavolo finds himself hosting a retreat for the members of the exchange program.  The last place he expects to find one of the human exchange students is in a hall of portraits, standing in front of the one that features the old royal family.Standing in front of her image.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 84





	Stardust

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [All Hail (Diavolo x Reader)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25921405) by [sondepoch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sondepoch/pseuds/sondepoch). 



> Notes: Takes place during the retreat in Lessons 7 and 8.

He finds them in a wing of the castle where the portraits line the halls. The other human exchange student; the one who is mundane in nearly every way. Just a regular run-of-the-mill human to foil Solomon’s anything-but nature within the program. 

The way they stare at a particular portrait like they are trying to puzzle out the faces almost makes him laugh. He knows they can’t see anything within the portrait. The old canvases have been enchanted to be unseeable to human eyes. Something about protecting the human psyche, though he never has been too sure about that old wives tale. 

Still he walks closer, his footsteps silent, and he looks at a painting whose contents he knows won’t be obscured to him. Though to see which one holds their fixation is what surprises him. Of all the ones to stand before, they have chosen the one remaining portrait of the old royal family. 

_‘It’s our history,’_ he had told Barbatos as the portrait found its spot on the wall. The one that still holds her face in it, the one he sees when he visits the clearing beyond the swamp once a year and the one that sometimes haunts his dreams. _‘Those who do not remember history are doomed to repeat it. I will not end up a tyrant like her family.’_

At the time he knows that it was a thinly veiled excuse. He knows that Barbatos knew too. 

It is the last surviving portrait from the old royal bloodline. After the successful rebellion everyone took the portraits from their walls and put them to the flame. The old decree to keep their image on their walls gone and dead too. Burning her likeness away a second time. 

But this is the last of them. The one lone portrait to somehow beat the odds and not be thrown upon some bonfire amid the celebrations of a successful rebellion. It is the last and only one that still bears her face, her eyes, and her smile.

It’s everything she was before those last brutal moments. 

“If you’re wondering why you can’t see it, it’s because it’s enchanted.” He finally says and has to hold back his laughter at the way they jump in surprise. 

Their hand comes to their chest over their heartbeat. It’s a funny little human gesture. “Lord Diavolo, sorry you startled me,” they say.

He allows himself to smile slightly at least. “Was the history tour not thorough enough?” he asks, wondering if he should amend it for future exchange programs. 

They shake their head, “No, it was good, I was just curious is all.” 

“About?” he asks, genuinely curious at their answer. 

“Who they are?” Is their question, looking back at the portrait and if he wasn’t sure that he knew better, he would’ve sworn they were looking directly at her. 

Instead he pauses at the question and the implication of their words. “You can see it?” 

“Yeah?” they reply, uncertainty in their words. They don’t know enough to think it unusual. 

It’s certainly not something he expected.

“Interesting, it’s supposed to be enchanted to be unseeable by human eyes.” he states, looking at them and then back at the portrait. He can see the faint glimmer of magic behind the canvas still. 

“Do enchantments weaken with time?” they ask, innocently enough. Diavolo hums a bit in thought. It’s been known to happen from time to time with lesser enchantments, that’s true. But from what he sees, it should still be active enough to obscure it from their view now. 

It’s something to ask about, he supposes. “It’s been known to happen occasionally,” he replies.

“Oh,” is their reply. Satisfied enough with the explanation for why they - a magicless human - can see past the glamour. “So, if you don’t mind my asking, who are they?” 

“The old royal family,” Lord Diavolo answers. At their puzzled look, he continues. “It’s probably not something you’ve touched upon yet in your history of the Devildom class, but they were the previous ruling family before mine rose to the throne.” 

They nod at his answer. It’s probably a familiar enough occurrence to them from what he knows of the Human Realm’s history. Kings and emperors constantly rise and fall from power throughout their realm.

“Did you know them?” they ask, that same curiosity he usually finds rather entertaining. At his hesitance they’re quick to add, “Sorry if I’ve overstepped.” 

But Lord Diavolo answers them anyway. “No, it’s fine to ask. I didn’t know the king and queen, but I knew the princess for a time.” He speaks her name, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat. 

“Did you like her?”

The question is innocent enough, but it catches him off guard. “Oh yes,” he says because what else could he say. He more than liked her; he loved her. 

And still he killed her.

Whatever the human hears in his answer is enough to give them pause. They look up at the princess’s face, one that looks nothing like their own, and stare into eyes that don’t hold a candle to the real thing. 

Together they stand, looking at a portrait of the dead’s faces. He almost finds it funny. After thousands and thousands of years, it is a mere human who contemplates and reflects upon her spirit. She who paid for the sins of her family and whose memory was cast away by her people. Even the newest born demons quickly learn of the tyranny of the old royal bloodline and hate her to this day.

For so long he has been used to being the only soul in the Devildom to value her memory. What else could he do? He won’t ever let her death be in vain.

It is still a surprise that this human seems to give her memory the respect and contemplation it deserves.

Finally, they speak again. “It might not be my place to ask, but what happens to demons when they die?”

He figures it only makes sense for them to ask. The exchange program suddenly opened their eyes to the knowledge of what possibilities await human souls after all. Knowledge that they’ve surprisingly adapted to and taken in stride.

“Normally they are bound to the cycle of reincarnation,” Lord Diavolo answers. It’s the sufficient answer, but that doesn’t stop him from answering their next unspoken question. “Though hers was destroyed, so there is only oblivion for her.” 

“A soul can be destroyed?” they ask, their cheeks turning a touch red upon realizing they blurted the question out without a thought. 

“Oh yes,” he says and this time does not go into detail. He doesn't need to speak of the horror that is hellfire: black as pitch, all consuming, and merciless. 

They let out a hum, a drawn out sound as they think for a moment. “You know, that’s what I used to think happened to people before I came here. Oblivion, I mean.” They say.

He raises his eyebrows at them, but when he doesn’t say anything they continue. 

“Of all the things and stories that people - humans - make up, I always thought that oblivion wasn’t the worst of them. I kind of thought it was preferable really.” They swallow, taking a moment to figure out their next words. “I mean, human lives are so short in the grand scheme of things. We live our lives and then we die. I didn’t think it was the worst thing if that’s all we got.” 

“And what do you think now?” Diavolo finds himself asking; genuinely intrigued by the human's answer.

“Honestly, I’m still not very sure. I’m sure my family - or even Luke - would love for this exchange experience to strengthen my faith. But I... I still don’t think oblivion is the worst possible fate,” they reply honestly. 

“You don’t think having your very soul wiped from existence is a terrible fate,” he states more than asks. This human doesn’t fail to surprise him.

“No,” they answer. “And maybe there’s no consciousness in oblivion, and maybe that soul doesn’t get reincarnated, but I think that there’s still something left of them.” 

Diavolo blinks at them. “What do you mean? If you destroy a soul, there’s nothing left. Oblivion means nothing.” He wants to shrug them off as not knowing - simple human ignorance - but there’s something about the thought that interests him. Something in their words he finds oddly comforting. 

He has spent millenia trying to make peace with her spirit. A soul that he and his father condemned to the torture of hellfire and, ultimately, oblivion. Perhaps it is because they are the only other soul who has been curious about her, but he finds himself wanting to know their thoughts on the matter.

“Well, where I'm from in the human realm, we’re taught about the conservation of mass. That no thing can be created from nothing and that no thing can ever truly be destroyed. I imagine it’s sort of similar. I mean, when we humans die, we rot and what we’re made of is recycled back into the ecosystem of the Human Realm. On top of that, we’re already made of recycled materials.” 

“What?” Diavolo asks.

“Well, there’s a bunch of stuff that makes up our bodies. All the elements within us: carbon, nitrogen, and iron in our blood and bones comes from dying stars. All those bits of stars that have burned up and died end up being what we’re built out of. When we die those elements are eaten by other things and we feed the dirt and trees. Those atoms get recycled into other beings.” 

“Maybe it’s just human creativity or wishful thinking, but I like to think that what makes up a destroyed soul is kind of the same. That the energy and what makes it up goes into other things, becoming their building blocks. Maybe in that way oblivion isn’t terrible.” they say.

He takes in their answer. 

“It’s not a bad way to think of things,” he finally says. 

They smile at him slightly. “There’s some human poet who once said that, ‘we’re ninety-three precent stardust, with souls made of flames, we are all just stars that have people names.’ I like to think that if we’re so close to stars, then we also follow suit. Our stardust goes to others.” 

He thinks of the ashes he scattered and the soul that flickered out of existence. Perhaps she did end up becoming other things. The bits of her soul consumed in fire spreading out to join with other beings. 

He thinks of how he still sometimes waits for her voice to carry on the wind. How he still sometimes sees bits and flashes of her around him: in strangers and in nature.

Perhaps her stardust became part of something more.

It’s one of the nicest thoughts of her he’s had in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This fic is inspired by the writings of sondepoch, specifically their fic All Hail. After reading the beautiful, heart wrenching tragedy, I was inspired to write this fic. 
> 
> I really wanted to write a bit of a reflection on grief, immortality, oblivion, and one’s place in the universe. Plus I think that Diavolo would appreciate human creativity on matters like this.
> 
> The quoted poem is “93 Percent Stardust” by Nikita Gill.


End file.
